


Drusilla

by megaraarts



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megaraarts/pseuds/megaraarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl could dance through hell with an unhinged smile on her face as the devil’s flames lapped at her toes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drusilla

**Author's Note:**

> Weird character description thing - pretty clunky.

Hooded, seductive eyes drifted up from the Celtic cross spread in front of her as another card was lifted from the top of the slightly askew tarot deck. The white tips of her pointed crimson fingernails glided over the patterned surface as images of death and fire flickered in her brain and burnt into her retinas. As she dreamt, tormenting omens filled her skull, warping her mind until she was wrenched awake in her bed. The world spun with paranoia. With her head cradled in her quaking, bony hands, white nightgown draped over her hunched form, her stance mocked that of the figure on the Nine of Swords from her vision.

With painted lips crafted into a childish pout and black ringlets knotted at the crown of her head, she was doll-like in her appearance. Her eyes were glass, dark and gleaming with lunacy. A lacy white dress hung off her frail frame and on her chest lay delicate black jewels. As she wrapped her porcelain arms around her paramour’s neck, her chin lay to rest on the sleek leather covering his shoulder. The slender fingers of her right hand crept along his forearm, fiddling with the frayed cuff of his jacket, as her other arm clutched his head to her silk-covered breast. 

Trauma had created cracks in her fragile mind, driven her to lunacy. Her speech was often incomprehensible, a sort of crazed mumbling in her olden cockney tongue, embellished with the occasional sob or snarl. Nevertheless, poetry blossomed in her words. Long winding monologues and godless scriptures spilled from her lips like a blood from a weeping wound. She was a Ouija board to the world, a toy used to communicate dark warnings for higher powers. 

A wound music box in her head played an eerie melody, over and over. She hummed the haunting lullaby as she swayed around the room. Her movements were jagged yet graceful, as if she were dancing a crazed waltz on top of a grave. The girl could dance through hell with an unhinged smile on her face as the devil’s flames lapped at her toes. A solitary ring a ring o’ roses, clutching to the hands of invisible demons as she twirled. Forceful arms desperately encircled her slim waist as her limbs turned limp, dragging her back to reality, causing her to hover a foot above the ground.

She was so elegantly evil as she stalked her prey, capturing them in her gaze before leading them to their demise. The innocence of her person was mesmerising. Her appearance held a deceitful element of purity, like that of a child or saint. She wore an unseen crown of thorns and flowers upon her head while victims prayed for her compassion. Carnage was left in her wake.


End file.
